12/1/22
Newletter175
The Crack of Dawn
On my last episode of Xena in 2001, which was the second-to-last episode of the series, I got a nutty script that was set half in the old days (whenever those were) when Xena generally took place, and half in present day. The present-day part mainly took place at a Xena convention. We cast an American actor who was an acting teacher in the part of the convention MC. The acting teacher was a very congenial fellow who gave off an air of upbeat confidence. Several other actors in the cast were his students. The guy had a couple of monstrously long, expository lines that explained how the previous six seasons had led to where we were, naming other episodes, and specifically naming a variety of characters who had come and gone on the show. I figured that I’d start the day off with this guy’s big lines that he would deliver standing at a podium which would knock off a couple of script pages fast, thus putting me ahead of schedule. It sounded like a good plan. The set was lit pretty quickly, the acting teacher stood up behind the podium, and I said action. Then we all got to watch this dumb son of a bitch try improvising his way through a page-long speech filled with specific details. He had not learned his lines and obviously thought this was all bullshit and who cared about the details? Who cared about the details? Me, the producers, the Universal executives, and all of the millions of fans, that’s who.
We, the cast and crew, watched this schnook screw up every episode title, as well as the pronunciation of every character name. I called cut and he smiled, indicating that he thought he had nailed it on the first take. I announced loudly for everyone to hear, “Well, since you obviously think our little show here is garbage, and unworthy of your precious time to learn your lines, which is the minimum effort an actor can give, you now have two choices: 1. Get the fuck out of here, you’re fired; or 2. Go stand in the corner and learn your lines, fast. I’ll rearrange my schedule just for you.” This stupid schmuck actually tried to defend himself by sticking his foot in his mouth and shoving it as far down his throat as he could. He said, “Nobody cares if I get these titles exactly right. I was close.” I said, “No, everybody cares. Every title has to be word perfect. Nothing less will do. Now go to the corner and learn your lines. I’ll give you an hour. And if I had a dunce cap, I’d make you wear it.” I swear I said that. I’m happy to report that he did learn his lines, although I allowed him to put the script pages on the podium as a security blanket but ordered him to not look like he was reading. He pulled it off and that’s all that matters, but an acting teacher not learning his lines? I would love to see the reverse angle of the cast and crew, including me, listening to this guy mangle every episode title and character name, with all of our mouths hanging open and our eyes wide in horrified astonishment.
On that same episode, whose title I won’t bother looking up, I worked for the one and only time with the actor Kevin Smith (who was not the guy who made Clerks). Kevin was a perfect specimen of a human being, particularly a male human being. He was tall, ridiculously handsome, had a hairy, ripped, six-pack, and was one of the nicest, funniest, friendliest, easy-to-work-with actors I’ve ever met. It was very hot when we were shooting and as soon as we finished a shot, Kevin would immediately remove his thick black leather shirt so he didn’t sweat off his makeup. And every time he took off his shirt, every member of the cast and crew, female and male, straight and gay, gasped. And seriously, Kevin was not showing off. Ted Raimi, who played the goofy comedy character Joxer, turned to me and said, “I feel so small.”
Kevin’s next gig was in China. Apparently, after a day of shooting, Kevin and another person climbed to the top of a very tall set and a had a few beers. And Kevin, who was no doubt laughing hysterically, fell off the set and died. He was 38, married, and had three boys.
I’m not sure that I can express this properly, but Kevin was so perfect that he had to die young. And in retrospect, you could almost sense it in his happy, professional, gorgeous demeanor. I’ll just bet that James Dean gave off that same vibe. Anyway, I’m really glad I got to work with him once.
And that’s the whole story. Go, be fruitful and multiply.